


Black and Blue

by bluestring14



Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Bullying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implication of Parents Splitting Up, Mentions of Death (Uncle Ben), Possible confusing verb tense changes, Swearing, Whump, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:50:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19232230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestring14/pseuds/bluestring14
Summary: Soulmate AU - You can feel the pain and gain any scars/bruises that your soulmate has.





	Black and Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a submission for a writing challenge on Tumblr. And after some time, effort, and a butt ton of love, I finally got a story which I actually enjoyed writing! :)

When prying eyes and curious minds ask you for the story of the scar above your eyebrow, your answer is almost always a shrug. ‘Cause you have no clue  _at all_ how you got it. You don’t know what happened, recall what may have happened, or even remember the sting of the scar.

“You’re lying,” people tell you almost always as a response. Even worse, after that, they leave you at that, thinking that you’re no longer worth the effort to get to know since you didn’t want to share.

The consequence of this lack of mutual understanding? You grew up with barely a friend in the world.

Surprisingly, especially to your parents who watched with longing other parents who had kids going to summer camp together, being lonely didn’t bother you as much as it should have.

Why? You became the best storyteller even when no one was there to listen - at least the best in your standards. You had a ton of stories in your back pocket about your scar, plausible ones, ones that on a good day and with good company are worth telling.

“Oh, I hit a tree branch learning how to ride a bike.”

“My mom let me have intricate nail art and I accidentally scratched myself while I was rubbing my eye.”

“Brownie, my dog, his collar got caught in my eyebrow while he was smothering me with his dog kisses.”

Your stories could fill two bookshelves and not a single one sounded like the other.

 _Gotta keep it fresh and interesting, you know_. You tell yourself whenever you thought of a new one as you brushed your teeth.

In fact as years passed, you became so good at telling those stories to yourself that on some occasions,  _even you_ believed in them. You believed in them until you fell asleep, hoping that maybe one of them was true. That way, you wouldn’t be as boring as you and everyone else thought you were.

Meanwhile, what you didn’t know was that on the other side of the city, there was a boy named Peter Parker who lay in bed every night with the same scar above his eyebrow who told himself stories are anything but true. With every new one he created, he hoped that they’d change his past and his present. ‘Cause every time he looked in the mirror, his scar only reminded him of nothing but the truth: that his parents were gone and for years to come, his story of being the boy who lost his parents tragically could be the only one that defines who he is.

~

All your life, you grew up under the careful watch of your parents. Being an only child, it was no doubt bound to happen anyway - well, that or the other way around where they didn’t care for you  _at all_. Fortunately (or unfortunately as some say), you got the helicopter parents, the ones whom if they could, would protect you from all the harm and pain in the world forever. And for 13 years, that’s exactly what they did. No bump, bruise, or scar touched your skin.

That’s why, the first time you ever experienced being bruised, you felt like you were dying.

It was lunch break and you were enjoying the peanut butter and jelly sandwich your parents packed for you. It was all well and good until you felt a pang right in the middle of your torso, knocking out the wind from you.

It took you a few seconds to get your breathing rhythm back and for the pain to dull.

Your eyes turned toward the sandwich you gripped tightly due to the sting.

 _It couldn’t be the sandwich_ , you thought, holding out the two pieces of bread at arm’s length.  _Nope_.

Just as you were about to take another bite, you felt another pang in your torso and your shoulders. Then another one. Then another. Then another.

Soon, the pain radiated from all over your body, the source undetectable.

All that hurt now was just  _you_.

In fact, you felt so sore to the point that you didn’t even think of finishing your half-eaten sandwich before rushing to the clinic.

Your footsteps echoed in the hallways as you ran, speeding past locker after locker. The sound ripples you left in the air were surely loud enough to piss the hall monitor - who may give you a week’s worth of detention if he caught you - but you didn’t care. You needed to go to the clinic  _now_.

 _A few more doors and I’m there_ , you thought to yourself when you stopped to catch your breath.

“That’ll teach you not to answer back next time!”

The sound of your panting was overpowered by another voice coming from one of the classrooms.

“No! Stop!”

Your ears perked up upon hearing another voice, strained and in pain.

Faced with two choices: to run to the clinic or to helped the person on the other side of the door, you chose the latter knowing that you wouldn’t forgive yourself if you knew you could do something and you didn’t.

“Hey!” You bellowed and slammed the door with as much force as your aching body could muster.

“Woah!” One of the bullies lost balance in shock, hitting chairs and displacing them.

Your eyes scanned the room until it finally landed on a boy curled up by a bunch of chairs.

Taking advantage of the few seconds you had while they regained their composure, you headed towards him and stood in front of him like a makeshift barrier.

“Well, well, well, Parker. Making your girlfriend fight your battles,” he scoffed, “how sweet.”

An enigmatic smile appeared on his lips.

“Come on, let’s go. Parker’s got enough. For today.” The biggest among the three spoke.

“I’ll see you next time.” He sniggered, jabbing his finger at your shoulder.

You stood your ground, eyes glaring at him with every poke. Soon, your fists were balled up and the desire to follow them and fight them grew with every step they took towards the door. The anger you had towards them bubbled up deep within escalated to the point that all you wanted to do was to give them a taste of their own medicine even if it means coming out of the fight with bloody knuckles and more bruises than you began with.

A step forward-

“No.”

You hear a soft voice behind you.

Your anger dissipated as quickly as it grew.

“Hey, you ok?” Your focus was now on the boy who was slowly getting up, whimpering with every movement.

You offered a hand to help him but he quickly swatted it away.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, a slight annoyance in his voice.

“No, you’re not.” You said matter-of-factly. “You should go to the clinic-”

“-No I don’t.” He interrupted while he adjusted his backpack straps and winced in pain. “Don’t want to ‘cause any more trouble than I’m already in. If I did then I wouldn’t have asked you to stop would I?”

“Well, I’m sorry for wanting to help!” You blurted, unable to hold your tongue back.

He took a step back, shocked at how loud your voice had become.

“Sorry,” you said almost immediately upon seeing his reaction. “Sorry, I just … I’m going there too. And I mean, we can go together if you want?”

He looked down at his shoes, contemplating and avoiding your strong but worried gaze.

“I promise I don’t bite.”

He raised his head to study you, his eyes traveling from your face to your bruised neck and arms.

“Ok.”

You sighed in relief and walked alongside him out to the hallways towards the clinic, your pace much slower than before given his condition.

“What happened to you?” He murmured, attempting to make conversation to fill the awkward silence.

You bit your lip. You’ve been asked this question too many times before and as much as you wanted to take a plausible story out of your back pocket to tell a boy who may just be a teensy bit interested in being your friend, you couldn’t bear to lie to him. He didn’t deserve to be lied to.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, “I just felt it while I was eating. Then-”

You sized up your arms which were now speckled with red bruises.

“This happened.”

He narrowed his eyes at you.

“I swear, I’m not lying.” You blurted out once again, in defense.

A few minutes pass.

“I didn’t think you were. It just sounded … weird.” He shrugged and hissed at the movement.

“Welcome to my life.” You said to no one in particular.

When you didn’t hear a peep from him, you glanced at him and a scar above his furrowed eyebrows caught your attention.

“What-”                                                                                   “Thanks by the way.”

 You both halted in your tracks.

“You said something?”                                                               “What’d you say?”

You shook your head and followed up with, “Nothing. What were you saying?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For saving me.”

You scoffed.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“No, no, you did.” He smiled with his eyes and mouth in such a way that was gentle and honest. “You appeared right when I needed someone to and stayed even when I shooed you away.”

He smirked.

“Never thought I’d be grateful for a little … weird today. I mean, without you, and whatever this is - which isn’t an undetected sickness or disease is it?”

You quietly laughed and mouthed “no”.

“Good.” He cleared his throat. “As I was saying, without you and this weird thing, I would’ve been beaten to a pulp and no one’s really looked out for me in school that way and well I just  _thanks_.”

His emotional out pour caught you so off guard that you’re inexperienced ass didn’t know what to say except, “Your welcome, Mr. Sappy Pants.”

_Step. Step. Step._

_Screech._

“Oh. My. God.” Your ponytail hit you as you swerved, facing him. “I’m so sorry I-”

Your apology fell on deaf ears given that he was too busy pretending to be offended by your off-putting comment.

“Excuse you,” Luckily, he was good at retaliating. “Mr. Sappy Pants has a first name. And it’s Peter. Peter Sappy Pants, Ms. Sassy Pants.”

You shook the outstretched hand he offered.

“Ah, ah, it’s y/n Sassy Pants to you.”

“Well, Ms. y/n Sassy Pants, I believe we are here.”

Your attention shifted from him to the door right in front of you both.

With more ease in his step, Peter moved in front of you closer to the door and pushed it open for you to walk through. Only, you didn’t.

“Uhm, earth to y/n? You’re the one who wanted to go here in the first place.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, It’s just-” You rubbed your arms.

His eyes widened upon realization that unlike him, you had no explanation of what happened to you.

“Ok, here’s our story.” He gently closed the door. “We both got bullied and beaten.” He paused. “Well, more of I tried to save you from inappropriate comments and got beaten myself.”

He smirked, attempting at a joke but sadly failing to land it.

You were too busy gauging whether or not you’d want to ride his story and, as he said, get him into more trouble.

But looking back you thought about all the times people asked and you telling them the truth.

Maybe it was time someone else spun a story for you.

When he noticed that you didn’t respond to his joke, he frowned and approached you, his voice soft and slow. “Hey, hey, don’t worry. I got your back even if you did offend me a while back.”

You giggled, shaking your head in amusement and disbelief that you and your first friend had to meet at the most unfortunate of circumstances.

“Thank you.” You said infusing the two words with as much sincerity as you could.

“You are very welcome … Ms. Sappy Pants.”

“Peter!”

~

Your fingers weren’t enough to count the number of stories you’ve read or movies you’ve watched of parents fighting and leaving their kid to fend for themselves while they worked out their problems. But as you found out recently, learning from secondhand experience - moreover, fictional experience - isn’t as effective as you thought.

It was the third day your dad hadn’t come home. Normally, he was in charge of preparing breakfast and lunch down before he went to work. But without him and with your mom working overtime, you had to find a way to make do with the groceries she brought home one day but never touched.

For the past two days, you’d been living - surviving - on nothing more than cereal and sandwiches which weren’t so bad. But now that the bread was all gone and so was the milk and cereal, you had no choice but to resort to the instant frozen food sitting at the back of the freezer.

After a few hacking and spoons, you finally fished a box of instant waffles.

“Preheat the oven to 400 - 400 degrees F. Place waffles flat on the baking sheet in the oven for about 5 minutes or until crispy and hot,” you read out loud and followed the steps to the dot.

Once your timer rang, you reached out to grab the try and -

“Crap!”                                                                                                             “Ah!”

“Peter? You ok?”

Four blocks down, Peter Parker watched as the side of his palm turned bright red. The searing pain reminded him of the time he helped Aunt May bring out her burnt meatloaf from the oven and burnt a part of his wrist in the process.

“Breakfast is - oh, Pete, what happened to your hand?” Aunt May popped by the doorway, her eyes transfixed on the red mark on Peter’s hand.

“I don’t know.” He said, dumbfounded. “But-but it’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” Aunt May approached and inspected it. “Looks like a burn. What did you touch?”

“Uhm-I-hmmm-”

“Well, that doesn’t matter now. Run your hand under the water and let’s see if I can find the balm to make it heal faster. In the meantime, please don’t touch whatever you touched again and Ben’s waiting at the table.” She ruffled his hair and walked to the dooway. “I made your favorite breakfast. Instant waffles with whipped cream and I also made you peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in case you’re not happy with the cafeteria food.”

“Yeah, uh-huh.” He nodded. “Oh, Wait! Can-can I have two sandwiches? I get extra hungry after Chemistry.”

That lunch break right after Chemistry, Peter found you picking at your miniature burrito.

With a spring in his step, he approached, swinging the brown paper bag filled with his lunch. As it turned out his gut feeling was right.

“Hey.” He plopped in the space right beside you.

“Hey,” Your usual vigor gone thanks to what happened this morning.

“That looks . . . delicious.” Peter nodded towards the burrito you have.

You shot daggers at him, pushed your food away, and disappeared behind the sleeves of your fluffy sweater.

“I’m not in the mood and you’re not helping.” Your muffled voice permeating through.

“I’m not. But I know what can.”

You heard the crinkle of the paperbag and lifted your head up at the sound. You see Peter with wiggling his eyebrows as he held two sandwiches in his hand. He placed one right in front of you and began unwrapping his, taking a bite.

You stared at the sandwich in front to of you. Not because you didn’t want it but because-

“Aunt May packed an extra one today.” He told you nonchalantly as he munched. “Do you want it or not?”

Thank goodness your reflexes were faster than his.

Flavors of salty and sweet burst on your tongue. You couldn’t help but close your eyes in pleasure at how good it compared to your burrito.

You overheard Peter chuckle beside you but you were so far from being pissed at him. Knowing Peter for more than a year now, you knew that he only had the best of intentions even with his ridiculous excuse. With what he did for you, you were nothing but grateful.

“Aunt May and Uncle Ben,” he spoke in between bites, “asked if maybe you could come over for dinner. We’re going to have homemade pizza,” a beat, “or takeout if she burns it again this time which is more likely.”

You’ve stayed over at the Parker’s residence before and though Aunt May offering dinner didn’t sound unlikely, given that you were having the worst day ever, him asking seemed too coincidental.

“Did she really Peter?”

“Burn our food? You’ve-”

“No. Invite me over.”

Peter held his breath for a few seconds like he always did when he debated on what to say. It was a habit you noticed he did whenever you practiced answering multiple questions for an exam.

“Ok, no,” he said slowly, “But-but I want you to come over and it’s not that you haven’t eaten dinner with us. It’s just that I noticed for the past few days you didn’t have your usual clean-cut prepared lunch and …”

Reason after reason tumbled from Peter’s lips.

“Peter?”

He abruptly stopped when you cut him off. Reaching to scratch the back of his neck, he blushed in response realizing what he was doing.

“Y-yeah?”

“You know what I hate?

“What?” He swallowed, wide eyes looking into yours.

“I hate that ever since we met, you have this instinct that I can’t explain. Like you just know exactly what I need without having me to tell you what or why,” you rubbed the burn on the side of your hands, “and that you’re always  _there_ for me even when I’m the brashest person on the planet.”

You broke eye contact, attempting to collect yourself and the feelings pouring from your heart and your mouth. Feelings which have grown over the course of you two knowing each other.

“What I’m trying to say is,” you say looking back at Peter who’s eyes were now twinkling. “Peter, I’d love to have a homemade-”

“-probably take out eaten at home-”

“-or take out eaten at home meal with you and your family.”

You beamed at him while he in return focused his attention on the paper bag in front of him and whistled.

“What?”

“You say that and you have the balls to call  _me_  Mr. Sappy Pants?”

“Peter!”

“Ah, ah, ah. I believe the more appropriate name is Peter Sassy Pants to you now, Ms, Sappy Pants.” He chortled. “On a serious note though, before we eat, we should really take care of that burn.”

“How-”

He shrugged, a small smile lingering on his face.

~

“Where’s Peter?” You whispered one morning to Ned during homeroom.

He furrowed his brows and mouthed, “no idea”.

It had been five days. He hadn’t gone to school, called you, or even answered your texts which was unlikely for him.

At first, you decided to leave him alone. Maybe was busy with something. Maybe they traveled out of the country. Maybe he had to help Aunt May with something. 

To be honest, you weren’t one to breathe down anyone’s neck but you couldn’t help but be worried about Peter. Not only because you’ve developed more-than-friends feelings with him but with every passing day, your heart felt more painful and heavier than ever.

Unable to stop yourself, you decided that that Friday afternoon, you were going to the Parker’s residence. After a quick stopover by the grocery for some food essentials that Aunt May always forgets to buy and Delmar’s Deli for Peter’s favorite sandwich, you found yourself standing at the doorway of their humble home.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

You stepped back as soon as you heard the door handle jiggle.

From behind the door, you see Aunt May appear. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were red.

“Y/n,” she ran her fingers through her hair.

Her voice was soft and strained like she’d been shouting or crying for a while now.

“I can-I can come back-”

“No, no, Uhm,” she opened the door even wider. “You here for Peter?”

You nodded.

She sighed and smiled as she ushered you in, closing the door behind you.

“Sorry about the mess. It’s been a rough week.” She said, organizing the pillows and the couch. “But at least he opened up to you which I think is why you’re here.”

“Opened up about what?”

She froze.

“He hasn’t told you has he?” She bit her lip and sniffed. “Ben, he-he.”

She cleared her throat.

“He-we-lost him and Peter thinks it’s his fault. I tried-”

You rushed in to give her a hug, the biggest one you can, packing all the love and condolences you could give.

The family who took care of you when your family was falling apart was now breaking apart at the seams and you didn’t even know.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so, sorry. I should’ve tried to call you sooner, I-”

“No.” Aunt May broke off your hug and held you at arm’s length. “I already have one teenager blaming himself for something not in his control. I don’t want there to be another one please.” She joked.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

“Just talk to Peter. He’s … not taking it well. He’s shut everyone out. Including me.”

“I won’t leave without a word.” You placed a hand on her shoulder to assure her. “Oh, and I brought these for you.”

You offer her the bag of groceries which she took.

“Peter and I always went to buy these and I figured I’d pay back the times I ate dinner with you when … yeah.”

“Nonsense. You don’t owe us anything. You’re always welcome here. For free.” She planted a kiss on your forehead. “Thank you.”

When you saw Aunt May disappear to the kitchen you headed right to Peter’s room.

“Peter?” You knocked thrice. “It’s y/n. Can I-May I come in?”

Silence.

“Peter?”

You were at a crossroads. Do you choose to leave Peter be or fulfill your promise to Aunt May?

“If you’re not going to let me in, I’m barging in there whether you like it or not.”

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

The door swung open and you slipped between the small gap between the door and the doorway. The sight that greeted you was one you never thought you’d see.

Peter Parker, your fussy-about-you, always concerned, bounces off the wall in excitement, witty tongued best friend, leaned against the end of his bed frame, his head hung low. He wore a huge shirt, his brown curls were unkempt, and when he raised his head to shoot a glance at you, they were red and swollen.

“Peter? Peter? Pete?” You placed your backpack on the floor right by his study desk.

You tiptoed towards him calling out his name ever so often as you closed the gap between the two of you.

When you were close enough to him, you stopped and sat in front of him. His eyes were still downcast, avoiding your gaze.

You looked around the room, half-eaten dishes were everywhere, so were papers and dirty clothes.

“Talk to me.” You pleaded.

You waited for a few minutes, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the collarbone peeking through the loose shirt. Turned out Uncle Ben’s death hit him harder than you expected and more than Aunt May could ever describe.

“Look, Pete,” calling him by a nickname you had never used before, hoping he’d comment on it, “I’m not leaving until-”

“I did it.” He murmured. “I’m the reason why Uncle Ben was killed. I didn’t do anything. I could’ve been there.”

His fists shook and curled around his shirt.

“Peter, don’t. It’s not your fault.”

You reached out to him but he pushed your hand away.

“It is!”

If looks could kill, you would’ve already died on the spot.

“You! You’re just like everyone else!”

He stood, towering over you.

“Why do you keep telling me that it isn’t my fault when  _you don’t know_? You don’t know what I know! You don’t have what I have! If you did, you wouldn’t forgive yourself for not being there for him!”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done Peter!” You told him. 

“Yes, there was! There always is! And don’t you tell me otherwise! You don’t know what I have to deal with every single day. You never went through what I did!”

He paced back and forth, his gestures erratic.

“You never had to lose your parents and become the poster boy of a tragic accident. You never have to wake up feeling like you could be better every single day because you know Aunt May deserves more. You don’t have to wake up everyday being reminded of the bad things that happened because you weren’t there to prevent it. So don’t you tell me that I don’t have the right or the freedom to blame myself ‘cause you don’t know!”

Tears were streaming down his face.

“I am sick and tired of always having to be the one to carry everyone else and having to be the one to take care of all the people in my life and failing at it. And I am sick and tired of having to take care of myself so seriously because god forbid I don’t, I still end up hurting someone else!”

He stopped, sinking into the spot right by the end of his bed.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. His speech. This wasn’t about Uncle Ben or his parents or even his Aunt, you knew this connection with you was taking too much of a toll on him. One that he no longer had the strength to bear and you no longer had the heart to allow him to.

“I-I didn’t ask you to take care of me.”

He shot a glance at you and when you did the same, you two locked eyes.

Guilt washed over his face but you made that split decision of not giving him space to speak because if he did, he’ll live the rest of his life bearing a cross he didn’t deserve to bear.

“I know about it Peter. Ever since I first met you  _I knew_.”

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for the very words you knew you’d regret saying but eventually will be for his own good.

“If you want to play the blame game Peter then fine! Ever think I don’t feel guilty whenever I get a bruise Peter? Or whenever I hear that you quit a sport or a hobby because it’s dangerous? Because I  _loathe_ myself for it Peter! I do!”

You clutched at your heart, the weight of it increasing with every word you’re saying.

“Every bruise, every scar I get that’s not mine, I’m reminded of how much you don’t deserve to be dragged into this! How much you deserve someone you don’t have to worry about every single day. How much you deserve someone who’s not black and blue and  _broken_.”

Tears welled up in your eyes.

“I’m aware - hell, I fucking hate it - that most of the choices you make are influenced by me even if I’m not there. Just, just stop! It’s not your job to carry the whole world on your shoulders and it’s not your job to take care of me! I thought that being this connected meant that I got to be here for you and that you knew I’d always be. And that none of it would feel like a burden especially to you ‘cause I’d hate to be the burden of someone important to me.”

A beat.

“Why did you think I never complained when you got a bruise or a scar?”

He stayed silent.

You took a deep breath and knelt in front of him. Gently lifting up his chin, you made sure that he looked into your eyes as you said your final piece before you went.

“I never complained because I care about you Peter Parker, more than you’ll ever know and more than I care to admit. If there was ever a chance that I could exchange myself and our connection with your parents and uncle being here, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

The tears finally flowed from your eyes.

“But I’m sorry I’m all you have.”

You stood and took out his favorite sandwich from his beloved deli shop and a bottle of Gatorade then left it by the shelf near the entrance. Then, you opened the door and turned back to him.

“I never meant to keep you from harm’s way.”

~

Days passed without you making contact with Peter. You even went so far as to avoid him when he tried to approach you. And although it pained you to stay away from the only friends you had in the world, seeing Peter looking healthier and happier was enough for you to maintain the distance from him. Add that to the bruises that appeared on your body here and there and you’re pretty much assured that Peter Parker lived his life without restrictions and without responsibilities breathing over his shoulder.

There were moments though, when the desire to have him there or the guilt of telling him off, tempted you to impose yourself back into his life. It was a good thing that during those moments, all you had to do was to look at the scar above your eyebrow and you’d tell yourself not to risk it. That his happiness was not something you should risk.

With Peter out of your life for about several weeks now, you had to find a way to distract yourself, especially with homecoming approaching. You’ve created this routine of going home alone, eating a quick snack, finishing your homework, tending to your bruises, and sleeping the night. At first, it was tough but eventually, you’ve gotten used to it, you even kind of liked it.

That little routine of yours was your life-saver. It had detached you so much from the Parkers that your desire to forget them was being fulfilled.

But just when you thought you did, fate decided that it had better plans for you.

Homecoming night.

You woke up in a cold sweat, nightmares of being surrounded by fire and being beaten senseless. Every part of your body ached.

The last time you hurt this bad, it was the first time you and Peter met.

 _Damn it_ , you thought, grabbing a coat and running towards the door, wearing it as you ran.

You may have sworn to yourself that you’d stay away from him but if being there for him today meant he’d stay alive like the last time then so be it. You wouldn’t stop scouring every crook and cranny of New York until you found him and protected him.

Once you reached your door, you heard a soft thud from behind you that made your stop in your tracks.

Fight or flight?

You chose the latter.

There were more important matters you had to deal with than stolen gadgets.

Just as your hand twisted the door handle, you felt a tug at your arm.

“Hey! Hey! Let go!” You pulled, your arm reaching for the door handle that was slipping from your grasp. “Let me go! You can steal everything you want just please let me go!”

Realizing that reaching out for the door handle was futile, you turned around and pulled at your arm and saw what held you back was webbing.

“What the?”

Right in front of you, Spiderman stood with the light of the moon and the night light illuminating what was left of his suit.

While you took the time to digest that Spiderman was, in fact, standing in your room, he busied himself studying your face. Guilt filled him up from head to toe as his eyes trailed the many burns that crept up your legs and hands as well as bruises and cuts by your lip and your eye.

“Look, I don’t know why you’re here but I really need to go to someone and help him. Please, let me go.”

“I can’t.”

That voice.

Without a moment of hesitation, Spiderman pulled off his mask to reveal a familiar bunch of brown curls.

“Peter.”

You breathed his name and ran into his arms, tears running down your face.

You felt his arms find itself around you, his hug gentle but secure.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No. No. I’m sorry. I-” You pulled away to look at him, gasping when you saw up close the damage. “My god Peter, what happened?”

“Long story.” He shrugged. “If you think I look bad, you should see the other guy.”

He smirked.

Your heart leaped.

It only dawned upon you how much you really missed his smile.

“Let’s patch you up first, yeah?” You suggested.”Then, then we talk? That’s if you want?”

“Yes please.”

As if there was no rift between you two, you both did your little routine whenever he decided to stay the night.

You headed out to grab the clothes your father left while Peter headed to the bathroom and took a quick shower which served two purposes: cooled down the burns and disinfected all the cuts.

In about 10 minutes, you two found yourselves in your usual positions. Him seated on your bed in your father’s smallest clothes and you sitting right opposite to him with a first aid kit opened right beside you.

Without having to think, you picked up the balm and began helping him rub it over the burns. Eventually, though, you decided to leave him to tend to his burns while you took care of his lacerated lip and cut by his right eyebrow.

Every time you pressed a bit too deep he hissed but instead of telling you off like he usually would, he resorted to telling you that it was your turn to be taken care of. That resulted in you shushing him every single time.

“Peter, I swear, if you’re going to tell me it’s my turn one more time, I’m seriously going to punch you and I don’t care if I get a bruise from it.”

“There’s my y/n.” He sighed and beamed. “God, I missed you.”

The words that came out of his mouth, made you stop disinfecting the cut by his right eyebrow.

“Me?” You quirked an eyebrow. “Mouth like a sailor. Insult aficionado me?”

“Yes.”

“You need to get more and better friends.”

“Maybe.” He said nonchalantly. “Or maybe I just need you back in my life.”

You placed a small bandage over the cut.

“Done.”

“Ok, your turn.” He said, the balm already in one hand and the ointment in the other.

“Oh no. You’re not rubbing that all over me.”

“Why not?”

“It’s … weird.”

“Sometimes you need a little weird in your life. I sure did.” He smiled at a distant memory that played in his head.

“Plus, we’ve been more intimate than this.” He continued. “Remember that scar by the end of our spine that I kept picking at and you had to put something to make sure it closed up alright?” 

He chuckled at the memory. 

“And we’re practically connected remember? Can’t hide anything from you anymore.”

You frowned remembering what he said a few weeks ago and grabbed the bottles from his hand.

“Seriously Peter, I can take care of it myself.” You gave him an encouraging smile. “Besides, you’ve got to call Aunt May, tell her you’re not at school anymore. She might get worried sick.”

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“What?”

“Pushing me away?” He asked, his voice filled with pain.

“Why are you doing this?”

“What?”  
  
“Still being nice to me after all I did and I said?”

With two fingers he lifted your chin exactly the way you did the last time you both talked.

“Because I care about you y/n l/n. More than you think and more than I ever say I do. And I don’t want to make the same mistake of losing you again.”

~

Bruises and scars don’t heal fast enough but thank goodness relationships do.

Ever since that night, you and Peter were practically inseparable. You both knew each other so well to the point that you could even prevent accidents from happening.

Your arm close to a fire? Thanks to Peter’s spidey senses, he could feel the burn way before it’s done it’s damage.

Close call while crossing the road? Thanks to your fear of drunk drivers in daylight and quick reflexes, you’ve avoided quite a number from hitting Peter.

Aside from protecting each other, you’ve also gotten so close to the point that you could call either of your houses home. Aunt May was gracious enough to forgive you right after that incident, admitting to you that even she missed having you there. Your mom, on the other hand, was nice enough to even consider him as her son especially after he mentioned the Stark Internship - which you knew was his alibi.

“Ok Peter, you know me, I’m all for doing things in advance but you’ve been hacking at that thing since we got home. Come on, take a break.”

You sat cross legged in your bed while Peter tried to finish his project one afternoon. The teacher gave you the whole weekend to finish it but he was determined to complete it by that night.

After defeating Vulture and helping Tony with another mission, he knew that he had to be on call no matter what.

And though you were giving your one hundred percent support to him being a superhero, you had to remind him every now and then that he was a kid and student. He had to work twice as hard to prove that he deserved to be there all the while being a good student, son, and friend.

For all that, at least at this moment, he deserved a break.

You stood up and tugged at his arm.

“Y/n,” he whined.

“Come on.”

“But I need to be finished with his in case-”

“Mr. Stark calls you for a mission again I know.” You placed your hands on his shoulders. “10 minutes.” 

He swiveled his chair to face you and you raised your hands like a criminal admitting to a crime.

“I promise I won’t bother you after 10 minutes.”

He held his breath and thought for a while.

“Fine.” He allowed himself to be pulled by you to the bed.

When you were both comfortably positioned, with your heads laid down in the middle of the bed with his feet at the end of the bed and yours at the headboard, you placed a pillow under your head and stared at the ceiling.

After a few seconds of silence, he propped himself up on one elbow and faced you.

“What exactly are we supposed to do during these 10 minutes?”

“I was thinking lie down and be quiet but looks like you don’t want to do that.” You joked then sighed. “Talk I guess. Just talk.”

“About what?” He placed the pillow under his head and stared at the ceiling as well.

“I don’t know. Stuff.”

“Like, why weren’t you shocked when you found out I was Spiderman?”

“The steady appearance of bruises was a good enough giveaway, Peter. That and I know that you weren’t taking any sports so you must’ve been doing something.”

“That’s settled then.” He huffed.

You looked around until your eyes finally landed on something worth talking about.

“Who does that belong to?” You pointed to the scar on your right foot. “Right foot, scar.”

He lifted his foot to look.

“Mine. Broken bottle.” He answered. “How about that? Shin, purple bruise.”

“Mine. Tried to go up two steps at a time. Bad idea.”

He laughed.

“Figured.” He said. “How about that?”

For the rest of the time you allotted, you found yourselves pointing at all the scars and fading bruises, asking for the stories behind each one of them. Beginning with the feet up until …

“How about this?” You pointed to the scar above your eyebrow, the first thing you ever shared, way before you two even met.

He swallowed.

“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable.”

“No, no. I want to. 4 years old. Car accident. Last time I ever saw my parents.”

You turned from facing the ceiling to facing him and it was then you noticed how much he changed. The kid you found in the classroom whimpering was basically nonexistent. A stronger, braver, yet more sensitive person replaced him. One who’s beloved by New York City.

 _Mr. Peter Sappy Pants_ , you thought,  _who would’ve thought_.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Just the first day we met and how different you are now.  _Good different_.” You smiled to yourself. “That and how lucky I am that you’re my friend.”

“Just your friend?”

“Fine. Best friend.” You smirked.

“What if, what if I wanted more than that?”

“Then all you have to do is ask, Peter.” Your usual sassy attitude gone, replaced by a soft, gentle one. 

“Fine.”

He held his breath and looked you in the eye as if debating what he’d do next.

Then, he reached out a shaking hand and lay it above your heart.

“Who does this belong to?”

No explanation needed.

“ _Yours_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to give me feedback either through comments or even asks on my Tumblr (@alwaysafanficwriter = https://alwaysafanficwriter.tumblr.com/)


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